


What needs must

by a_sparrows_fall



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 16:56:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13081215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_sparrows_fall/pseuds/a_sparrows_fall
Summary: For prompt: “Anything involving Geralt and Emhyr would be amazing!”Emhyr has a cold.





	What needs must

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Yule, anon! I hope this works. :)
> 
> Thank you always to [Dordean](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dordean) and [Kaeltale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeltale) for beta.

“No.”

Pale fingers crest the edge of the pages of _A New Biography of Marris II: The Gathering Storm_ and pull the tome back and down. Fearless golden eyes regard him, unblinking.

Perhaps the common man would be cowed in the sights of a master witcher.

It rather goes without saying that Emhyr var Emreis is not the common man.

Irritatingly, that hasn’t prevented him from succumbing to the throes of the common cold.

He raises a contemptuous eyebrow, a response that sets his typical royal audience trembling, but never seems to get him very far with Geralt.

It doesn’t this time, either.

“Rest,” Geralt tells him evenly. “You need it.”

The cotton wool that seems to be filling his head denies him the thought of a cutting remark in any reasonable amount of time, so he pulls the book back up and begins to focus on reading again.

It’s batted back down immediately, somewhat more forcefully this time.

“If you don’t put that book down, I’m going to put a sleeping draught in your soup. Witcher strength.”

“You realize,” Emhyr pushes past the close, grating sound of his own voice humming in his airless nasal passages, “the mere suggestion of such an act is treasonous.”

He sniffles, then, which somewhat dampens the effect of his words.

“Uh huh,” Geralt acknowledges flatly.

The book is removed entirely from his hands, and he relinquishes it with a heavy sigh, allowing himself to be manipulated into a reclining position.

As if fearing he’ll retaliate, Geralt slips under the covers himself, and seizes him, kayran-like; before he can protest, he’s entangled in long limbs holding him firmly but gently in place with mutagen augmented strength.

Emhyr shifts slightly, less testing the strength of his bonds and more simply trying to get comfortable.

“Insufferable,” he gripes, stifling a cough. “Being restrained.”

“You don’t seem to mind it other times,” Geralt says half into the pillow, not releasing him and not opening his eyes.

Not dignifying that reply with a response, he focuses on the warmth radiating from his witcher’s skin. He grudgingly admits that there are possibly worse places to be than held fast by your annoyingly endearing consort who happens to be immune to your illness and is currently putting out heat like a small, sinewy furnace.

Even the sound of his deep, even breathing is a comfort. Blasted man.

Seeing no other course of action available to him at present, the Imperator of Nilfgaard does something he is ever loath to do: he surrenders. Closing his eyes, he pretends to sleep, suspecting the genuine sensation will not be far behind.

Never in all his years did he consider that placating a witcher would be chief among his imperial duties.

But, well... What needs must.


End file.
